


Worship You

by adrift_me



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Consensual, Edging, M/M, Romance, Skin Carving, Worship, almost PWP but not entirely, no pain, trust me it's not as terrible as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: All heretics must burn.One night Corvo finds himself branded a heretic by an Overseer. It's a crime the Outsider can't walk past and comes to relief Corvo of pain and humiliation. What follows is worship, loving and Corvo receiving a brand new mark to bind him with the Outsider for life.





	Worship You

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoy this story. I wanted to play with the idea of Corvo beind branded a heretic and thus this fic was born. What follows is rather explicit, but not xxx. Be careful if you have issues with reading anything connected to bloodplay.
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr! I also love getting prompts in my ask :)](a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com)

He wakes up in the middle of the night, his face burning and his throat tearing apart with screams of pain. There is a hissing of metal and anger, a smell of burnt flesh in the air,  _ his _ flesh. Corvo yells and gasps, pushing away whatever is pressed to his face and trying to grab at the abuser’s arm to fix it in a breaking lock, but the attacker is skillfully avoiding his grasp. Corvo’s left eye is burnt unseeing, tears streaming from the socket. His healthy eye can see the gleam of an Overseer’s mask, glowing strangely in the moonlight. Corvo tries to grab at it, but, blinded by pain and shock, loses his ground and falls to the Overseer’s feet.

“All heretics must burn,” the stranger says and kicks Corvo in the shoulder and then at the stomach. The Overseer leaves through the door quietly as a shadow, leaving Corvo on the floor, pathetic and sobbing in pain.

He doesn’t get up for hours. Lies on the floor, a healthy side of the face pressed to cold dirty planks. Messy and sweaty hair stick to his temple. His eye, unburnt and safe from the wound’s reach, is wide open and gazes across the room to where a hidden bookcase door is leading to a shrine. He clenches his marked hand a little, tuning in with the dark vision, and looks at the shrine’s golden outlines through it. The silhouette is broken, lines blurry with the force of void connection. The structure is unfinished still, only loose pieces of expensive purple fabric hanging off the base. Corvo clenches his fingers again and drowns in darkness once more. There are glowy beams of purple light coming through the narrowest cracks of the hidden entrance, and Corvo doesn’t know if it’s colourful flashes of pain in his eyes or the actual gleam of the Outsider’s shrine.

Corvo scrambles himself up from the floor, a bared Mark on his left hand glowing ever so slightly in the shrine’s vicinity. He finds it peculiar, for the Mark only responds to runes and finished altars, but he brushes it off as a reaction to his immense pain.

He finds his mirror first. A large piece in a carved frame reflects his face and he groans in pain and horror. Anger boils in him next and he brushes long hair off his face, revealing an image, imprinted with sizzling hot metal on him.

A heretic. They have branded him a heretic. Red streaks of a trident destroyed his face, burnt his flesh, sizzled out his hair.

He is not a vain man and cares little for good looks. It is his faith, or the lack of thereof, that was assaulted. He can see the Mark on his hand glow golden as he clenches his fist but releases no magic.

He comes up to a long bookcase and pushes one of the small sculptures, making it slide open. A small room inside is crammed with materials: wooden planks, a roll of spiky metal wire, bundles of fabric. There’s a large shrine base and even though it glows only a little with a purple lantern hanging off the ceiling, it requires much more work to do.

Corvo takes a moment to look at it and then falls in line with his heresy.

He falls on his knees before it, leaning on the base where a handful of embers, cold and dull, has long gone out. Swipes them away and they hit the floor, scattering all over.

His left eye is blank and blind, he can’t see a thing from behind a curtain of nothing. He can feel tears streaming down from the socket, however, and they drop richly on the shrine pedestal. His mind tirelessly repeats the Outsider’s name in a silent prayer and he doesn’t know if he calls  _ out _ to or  _ for _ him.

“My dear Corvo…” he hears the words before he can see the person who pronounces them. The Outsider shadows behind him, hands hidden in a lock behind his back. His voice and presence is a soothing balm to Corvo’s burnt face and humiliation. He doesn’t look up, hiding away his branded image from the god who that very image now defies unwillingly.

“You have come,” trembling disbelief in his voice, lips hurting where the brand rips through them with an ugly scorched wound.

“You have been quite insistent with your prayers. I admit I grew curious to know what happened to lead you to such a despair. Among so many people, Corvo, you are truly the last one to beg me to come.”

The Outsider leans down a little and Corvo bites on his own lips.

“I was… desperate.”

The Outsider says nothing, but continues circling Corvo who gets dizzier with every following step. The Outsider pauses and lets his fingers fingers carefully catch strands of sweaty hair, move to trace from the throat to jaw. He brings the assassin’s face into the magical light of a lantern even as he tries to look away. Their eyes meet.

For a moment Corvo stares into the void of the Outsider’s black eyes. It’s consoling, for he can’t see emotions in them. His one seeing eye is unblinking, while another streams with tears of pain and shame.

“My faithful Corvo, branded a heretic. How ridiculous,” the Outsider says with a dangerous edge in his voice. His long fingers trace the holy trident, burnt into the flesh, never touching but hovering ever so gently. He leans down and Corvo finds himself reaching out unintentionally for what he thinks is a kiss forthcoming. The Outsider smiles, his brows arched a little in surprise, and the man feels another sting of shame burn through him.

“Corvo…”

The Outsider says his name so often, and yet he still can’t get enough of it. It’s always different: gentle, inquisitive, loving, sneering.  _ Corvo _ .

The deity’s hand presses onto Corvo’s cheek and the man cries at the touch, burning pain tearing his face apart. But then there is smoke, blue and thick, coming from under the god’s palm and the more it fumes, the less pain Corvo can feel. Suddenly his hurt eye opens and the tears run down clean skin and through thick itchy stubble.

He looks at the Outsider, reverence in his face.

“No more.”

The Outsider doesn’t rush to remove his hand from Corvo’s healed face. Instead it wanders, hovers right before his cheek and then plunges into a mane of messy black hair that Corvo has grown. He feels a tug, bringing his face up a little, the god’s hand resting on his nape still.

“My dear Corvo,” he says again, “I won’t let those fools speak and perform treachery, if not to a man of mine but to a Royal Protector. It’s almost amusing, this idea I have. It will make  _ you _ even more interesting.”

Corvo clenches his fingers around the Outsider’s wrist as he pulls his hand away from his hair.

“I shall give you my mark once more. But with my own hands, carved into your very flesh where no one can see that you belong to me. It’s a power beyond the Abbey’s comprehension and yours alone to carry.”

“I was branded a heretic and you wish to brand me a fanatic. If I am to be yours, let it be my way.”

Corvo pushes forward, pressing his forehead to the Outsider’s other hand, knees hurting from standing on the floor.

“Corvo, where the Abbey seeks to forbid, I aim to allow. Many wish to have this kind of mark on their body, but it’s only you who shall receive it. Should you want to.”

Gentleness seeps through the Outsider’s words. He kneels next to Corvo and cups his face. They are so close, Corvo can see the black oil of the Outsider’s eyes, sees their movement from under the dark eyelids. It’s sickening but beautiful, and he stands between two opposite feelings as if it were a dangerous line across the void.

“It is even more amusing than I thought. In the entirety of four thousand years I haven’t indulged in more than rare entertainment at the cost of sanity of people and for my own curiosity. No… this is different now,” the Outside’s fingers flex a little over Corvo’s face and he smiles oddly. His eyes flick under the eyelids again and Corvo stares. “The God who loves a man.”

His words come out silent and sharp as a staccato with pauses between every word. Corvo’s eyes widen a little and he is not sure what his heart is trying to do. It bursts and beats and makes him feel dizzy, almost drunk. His mind explodes in thousands of questions and his mark is as searing hot as the Abbey’s brand.

The Outsider doesn’t lean in. He looks at Corvo with what he fears to call admiration. It’s subtle, his expressionless features almost untouched, but the way he brings the man’s face up a little, turns it in his hands just half an inch, tells Corvo that the Outsider is admiring him.

With a little push, the Outsider helps him rise. It is now that Corvo notices their height difference, when the god has to look up at him, his black eyes unwavering. He himself has to look down and reverence takes over him. He has never stood so close to this creature, let alone had its hands on him.

The Outsider’s curiosity melts into touches. Corvo can’t help but wonder how many times the deity had a chance to physically touch someone, always floating away in the Void, appearing only over the shrines as an image and only to those chosen ones who had no wish to touch the deity. They would rather he had  _ them _ touched with the Mark.

The Outsider’s hands press to Corvo’s chest and he is being pushed back until his legs hit the edge of the shrine. He has nothing else to do but commit a sacrilege, sitting down on the throne which is meant for the god. Silks, hanging off the wooden planks of the shrine, tickle Corvo’s arms and shoulders and he shivers.

The Outsider looks at him for what feels like eternity, standing too close for comfort, hands pressed firmly to Corvo’s chest. He seems to be waiting. His head tilts from left to right, eyes narrowing as he measures Corvo with a thoughtful glance which doesn’t help the man to stop trembling. Pain is gone from his face and his eyes see all too clearly, freed from the curtain of tangled hair.

And then Corvo realises the Outsider is listening to his heartbeat, feels for it with the flat of his palms. At the mere thought of it his heart picks up the pace and deafens his ears with the rush of blood.

The Outsider leans in and presses his forehead to Corvo’s. Where the skin is burnt no more, Corvo feels the gentle touch and delights in it. A warm feeling of eternal pride settles in his chest. He is proud and jealous of himself, craving for the Outsider’s attention to be his and his only. It’s a new feeling he is unfamiliar with but possessiveness makes him like it.

There is a kiss on his forehead. The Outsider’s lips are ghostly, trace the wrinkles of age on his skin down and down until they give the tip of his nose a light touch. Corvo’s hands slide forward and boldly he pulls the Outsider into an embrace which he accepts oh so eagerly, his body yearning for a touch he must have evaded for thousands of years.

“My dear Corvo,” the Outsider is sitting in his lap now, legs on both sides of his thighs. Possessiveness moved into his lead as Corvo feels from his commanding touches and gestures. He gives in, lets his reign fall and allows himself being touched wherever the deity pleases.

The Outsider leans down and pushes teeth into the angle of Corvo’s jaw, sliding down with a soft smack, his lips replacing the sharpness of teeth. Corvo’s breath hitches and he can feel his own skin moving under the Outsider’s kiss. The god pulls away, and instead presses himself in an embrace, his whole body melting into Corvo’s arms. His hands wander the god’s back, drowning in the odd lack of temperature from the deity’s skin. He nuzzles in the curve of the Outsider’s neck and feels the god’s sharp chin touch his neck. And then there are lips all over it and teeth again, the Outsider’s mouth leaving wet saliva marks on his skin, tongue drawing inquisitive possessive circles. The Outsider is all but human in his affections and Corvo comes to an acknowledgement that he is enjoying it greatly.

Corvo’s hand runs through the Outsider’s short hair and grabs at it. His body does it, he thinks, tenses and succumbs to the Outsider’s bite on his neck which is sure to leave a glaring red and blue mark, a mark of possession. It is as if the mark on his hand is not enough, he is now an exhibit of belonging to the black-eyed god, touched with tokens of love and lust.

“Corvo,” says the Outsider, the tip of his nose gently caressing a spot on the man’s neck. “Do you know how many would sell their souls for what I’m doing to you right now?”

“Do you expect my gratitude?” Corvo laughs a little, tightening his grip in the Outsider’s hair, almost expecting to hear a ‘yes’. 

“A god has come down to pleasure you. It doesn’t happen so often. In fact, I have never done it before with my Chosen ones. But you are not like others. And it is of my own volition that I’m here. And of your heart’s.”

The god pulls Corvo’s hand from his hair and rubs a line from the center of his palm to where his pulse is beating a mad tune.  _ Up, down. Up, down. _ Tracing the black lines of the Mark tattoo.

He moves his face closer to Corvo, and the man stares straight into the Void of the Outsider’s eyes. His own eyes flutter and he is unsure if he can tilt his head and give into the kiss.

He can’t believe he had the Outsider in his lap for what feels like an hour and still hasn’t tasted what the Outsider’s mouth is like.

“If only you could have seen what people do in order to summon me. Foolish rituals which do nothing but tell me of how uninteresting they are. Blood sacrifices, prayers till their knees hurt and bleed, some even go as far as perform self-pleasure in my name,” the Outsider bares his teeth in an eerie smile. “I’ve watched them all and ignored them.”

Corvo can’t help but feel his chest swelling. The god’s generous praise that he has never wanted him and it is what peaked his interest makes him warm inside, heats a feeling he didn’t know existed in the cage of his ribs. It is he now who places a mouthful on the Outsider’s jaw and gives a soft moan.

“Corvo.”

There is a warning, a desire, there are so many things in the way the Outsider spells his name. He frees himself from Corvo’s reach and runs hands along the man’s sleeping shirt.

“Only when you belong to me, shall I give in.”

He pulls up the yellowish hems of the linen shirt. It reveals strong muscles and hairy skin and Corvo can feel his stomach drop in anticipation, sees the valleys of his ribcage as he breathes fast and unsteady.

He breathes out loudly when the Outsider leans down to kiss his abdomen and pull at the strings of his sleeping trousers. They loosen and Corvo feels slight relief at that. The Outsider is standing now, hovering over Corvo, pulls his trousers just a little to reveal a prominent line of trained muscles and a net of scars. He leans down and traces the thin lines with his tongue and looks up, black eyes almost smirking at Corvo who raises his head and goes dizzy with the image.

The Outsider procures something from the darkness which always envelopes his outline. It’s a dagger, a whalebone dagger with a carved handle and sharp as a knife point.

“It will not hurt, I’ll make sure of that.”

The Outsider tilts his head and for a moment nothing happens.

But then it does, and Corvo gasps, covers his mouth with his hand, another hand gripping on the edge of the shrine. Pleasure is pulsing through him at immense tempo and strength. It’s more than sexual pleasure, it’s utter bliss. His eyes roll as he is unable to constrain himself and what the Outsider does to his body.

Without understanding he watches the point of the dagger stand at his skin, and then the Outsider pushes it into him. Instead of searing pain, as he expects through flashes of light that burn his eyes, he feels a surge of muffled pain and watches a drop of blood pour out of the hole, painting the dagger edge.

The Outsider leans down and catches the droplet with his tongue, making Corvo’s abdomen hollow again.

Carefully, elaborately, the Outsider draws half a circle on Corvo’s skin. He smears blood all over, pushes his fingers into it and smiles his eerie grin which makes his face deepen with shadows.

Corvo bites on his lip, unable to free himself from the pleasurable strain that holds his insides in ecstasy. As if to add to that, when the Outsider pushes the blade in him again, carving a thick line from the half-circle, Corvo can feel a pulse through his groin. He lifts his leg a little on inertia and bites harder on the reddened lip. The Outsider seems not to notice at first, busy with impressing his mark in Corvo’s body, and Corvo wonders if it’s a well-hidden facade or if he truly is unaware of what his marking does to him.

Corvo thinks the time itself has stopped around the purple gleaming shrine. His hands are sure to leave sweaty dampened marks on the wooden base as he grips on it in desperation. Tears of want stream down his face as he watches the Outsider’s work on his body. He is an artwork, a piece of clay to be molded by a deity’s hands and he lets his body melt into the sharp blade of the Outsider’s dagger.

He hisses and throws his head back when the Outsider carves a solid circle in the center of his mark’s beams. As soon as Corvo’s teeth grit, the god looks up and gives a gentle smile.

“How you manage to hold yourself when I draw pain and blood from your skin is beyond my understanding. Does my magic dull the pain well enough?”

His words are oddly soothing and Corvo imagines he might be hallucinating. He nods his head, lips still pressed together in a thin red line. The Outsider smirks and leans down to lick off the build-up of blood, seeping through the new wound. Corvo watches the tip of his tongue soak in rising droplets and remove it from his skin.

And then the inexplicable happens. The Outsider rises and leans over Corvo, presses a free hand to his face and captures his lips in a kiss. It is everything Corvo wanted and so much more. He pushes into the kiss as much as he can, caring little for the lack of gentleness and flying high on the wave of pleasure which still holds him away from the pain of carving. The Outsider has never kissed before, he knows it through an inquisitive tongue and uncertain lips when he slides his own tongue in the Outsider’s mouth. It tastes heavily of metal of his own blood and nothing else. The god has no taste. It’s no disappointment for Corvo, because he wallows in the feeling of a temperature-less tongue and the movement of full lips against his which are just as eager.

The Outsider’s possessive grip strengthens over his face, then slides to his bitten wet neck. A finger presses under Corvo’s chin and he pulls away for oxygen. The Outsider’s hold lessens, softens and turns into gentle rubs of a thumb.

They stare at each other, Corvo being lost in the depth of the Outsider’s gaze. He wonders if he would see something there if he tries hard enough. More than emotion, more than thousands of possibilities. There is one he holds in his very arms right now, and where it turns depends on the god and himself.

The Outsider runs a hand over Corvo’s face, traces down his throat and chest and back to where the mark remains unfinished, bleeding slowly. The deity brings up blood-painted blade to the skin and its tip cuts softly again, adding another half-circle and another to the mark. Corvo bites on his lips and they grow swollen from the force of his teeth. Bliss washes him over again and he pants, chest rising and falling from effort.

Another kiss to the lower part of his abdomen, and he can’t hold back anymore. A shuddering soft moan escapes his mouth before he can catch it.

The Outsider looks up with his eyebrows arched a little, lips turns up in a slightly amused smile.

“Corvo.”

And again, his name full of meanings, promises. Corvo looks down at the Outsider, who drops the dagger and places both splayed palms on his naked sides, and sends him a begging look. He’d rather have the deity closer, so much closer.

The mark glares red and blood at Corvo, a finished symbol to hold Corvo forever in connection to the leviathan. The lines are fine and thin, barely bleeding now. Soon it will dry and become a mere reminder about where Corvo’s loyalties and faith lie.

The Outsider leaves a trail of kisses down Corvo’s chest. The man throws his head back, wallowing in the feeling without watching. It’s blissfully painful to feel the Outsider’s dry lips mark him. His cock turns harder with every following moment and he is not sure what to do with it.

And the Outsider notices.

His thumb runs over the fabric where the bulge is, and the Outsider smiles fondly, raising his gaze at Corvo. He moves forward again, returning to the position where his legs frame over Corvo’s, runs a circle of arms around the man and brings their lips together in a kiss. Corvo breathes in deep before he gives in to his desires entirely. His arms are too strong for the Outsider and his love madness is feverish as he quickly and harshly kisses the god who holds onto him in desperation.

Corvo feels something touch his cock through the fabric and realises that the friction comes from the Outsider’s mirrored desire. His eyes are black as they should be when he pulls away from the kiss, but they move rapidly to look over Corvo’s face, flicking from eyes to lips and down to where they touch. The Outsider looks confused.

“Let me help you,” Corvo says hoarsely, pushing the Outsider closer, and nearly goes mad when the deity’s teeth bite on the lower lip at the touch of their cocks.

“I’d rather…” his voice is shaken and Corvo yet again wonder how he managed to bring the Outsider to this point. 

What the Outsider would rather do they never learn, because it must be not in his plan. He moves to plant a kiss below Corvo’s ear lobe.

His neck is all too sensitive for what the Outsider does, kissing him just so, and he lets himself suffer from desire which grows stronger with every passing moment.

The things he wants would make all the Overseers turn guns and swords on him. The things the Outsider  _ does _ shake the Dunwall Tower with Corvo’s moans as he tries seeking friction between himself and the god and finds barely any. His breathing is ragged and begging, but the Outsider won’t let him do anything. Like a particularly hungry leech he sucks on the side of Corvo’s throat, the very spot which can’t hold his burning desire away.

It is almost not surprising that Corvo breaks down under him, shudders in sudden convulsions of pleasure which no longer has anything to do with the god’s magic. This time it’s nothing but touch that drives him to the point where he forgets how to speak, only the Outsider’s name on his lips that he mutters over and over. He is strained and unsatisfied without a touch, and yet the Outsider is insistent.

“If there is anything I had learnt in these many years, it’s that enjoyment must be savoured, Corvo. Let’s see where it takes us, shall we?”

Corvo says nothing but nuzzles in the Outsider’s neck, feeling sweat appear on his own skin. He is burning with pleasure and unrelieved desire, but the Outsider’s gentle embrace holds him back with a promise.

He knows the Outsider says it for both of them, can still see a bulge in the god’s tight trousers which Corvo would rather pull away. But such is the game and he follows the rules properly, as he mostly does. After all, what is eternity to an immortal god?

And he has a reason to make it out alive again next time.

***

Morning shines bright and dazzling through the stained-glass window of the small shrine room, the secret door to which is still wide open. Corvo looks at it from his bed, eyes clouded with a sleepy haze. The shrine glows magically within a set of many purple lanterns he knows he hasn’t brought there.

There is dull pain on his skin and it prompts Corvo to look. And he does, pushes down the blanket far enough to bare his naked body to the light of dawn. There it is, burning with dull red, the mark of the Outsider in his very flesh. His skin is flaking with dried blood which is smudged unevenly. Small hairs down to the scar are sticky with the dry droplets.

Corvo traces the image with his marked hand and then brings another hand to trace his lips. It feels like a nightmare followed by epiphany, the way the Outsider responded to his mute prayers and relieved him of the hatred of the Overseers.

He would find and face the assailant later, hunt him down by the smell of him, by his voice. Corvo prefers savouring revenge, find twisted ways of dealing with people who hurt him or his friends. Death is boring, he thinks, why murder a person when they can be punished by different means and be left alive with the consequences pinning them down to the very ground.

He smiles and looks down at the scar again. He has been rewarded by the Outsider. He is proud of what he had done to the lone deity which floats in the Void forever. Pulled at his hair and embraced his thin body, worried his lips in a way no one ever could and wouldn’t. And now he is his, branded a heretic in the name of the god.

He smiles wider, eerily.

He never thought he’d like this but then he wonders if he should be surprised. Jessamine was always fond of him in most possessive ways and he obliged, followed and indulged. Of course, it was rather mutual, but one cannot own an Empress. And most certainly, one cannot own a god.

And yet it’s hard for Corvo not to think of the sounds that boiled in the depth of the Outsider’s throat when Corvo went as far as to kiss it. Skin burns with memories of the touch, the Outsider’s temperature-less fingers digging into Corvo for a hold when the man kissed him everywhere.

Smile paints Corvo’s lips. They never went where their bodies, one mortal and one eternal ethereal, wanted to go. But Corvo thinks that the mark on his skin is more than a promise. A bond, a connection and he would have it exploited till both he and the deity are spent, broken and undone under each other.

There is knocking on the door and a young maid’s voice, calling for Corvo to get ready for the day. The dawn has passed and sun pours into the shrine room and bedroom, strange purple light combining with that one of the sky. Corvo turns on his side and watches two gleaming runes on the pedestal, waiting to be collected and singing, buzzing in the air. 

He knows they weren’t there just five minutes ago.

Wind blows through the open windiw and brings the whale song in as Dunwall wakes up. Corvo smiles again.


End file.
